


Showtime

by orphan_account



Category: Jossverse
Genre: F/F, POV First Person, Season 3, Subtext, Two of a Kind - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-19
Updated: 2012-11-19
Packaged: 2017-11-19 01:35:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/567559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Buffy and Faith are the same under the skin, wires that twist around each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Showtime

Want. Take. Have.

It’s a simple philosophy, designed to cut through the bullshit self-doubt and discipline so rigorously encouraged by Giles and my mum and Snyder. Even Will and Xander and Angel, though they don’t mean to, they still see me as the Slayer, She of the Great Responsibility. I’m supposed to maintain a certain level of control at all times.

She lets me be a stupid teenage girl with too much energy and a bad attitude.

Doesn’t hurt she’s the epitome of the bad girl rebel. Why would she judge?

We dance, and it’s not the dance I do with the gang that’s all about them and all about friends – jokey, open, fun. This is primal, this is all motion, all Slayer power and speed. It’s raw power. I know we look hot, but I couldn’t care less about anyone watching. It’s all about her, she’s the dark sun I’m orbiting around and while I know I’ll burn up the second I touch her, I can’t seem to stop myself.

I lean in and do the notorious sexy dance that almost fucked things up with Will and Xan after the Master died – after I died. And she just shimmies with me, hands on my hips, fingers slipping just under the band of my black leather mini. I roll my head back and she kisses my jugular in a mockery of a vamp, her breath tickling my ear as her tongue glides up my neck.

I’m lost in the iron maiden of her limbs, the music, the sweat sticking us together and making me think only of the kill and other warm, wet pleasures.

She drags me away and I expect her to haul me into a toilet stall or even just the bathroom or the alley out back, but somehow she finds this inhuman patience I never thought she could be capable of and barely touches me the whole way to her motel room. Inside I still feel like I’m moving, my whole body is full of a nervous tension I just want to shake out. She’s so calm but I can see the glimmer in her eyes that says she wants this just as much, if not more. No, not more – she can’t possibly need this more than me.

I don’t worry about the girl factor – it’s new, it’s different, but it doesn’t seem to matter. She’s not just any girl. She’s like a sister, a dark reflection of myself, and she seems to know my thoughts before I think them. It’s not weird because she feels like part of me – and she is, in some mystical blood way that was ordained thousands of years ago. We were made for each other.

She strips off my clothes and the patience is gone. She’s still fully dressed as she throws me down on the bed and eats me up, every inch, burrowing under my sweat-slicked skin. Her dark curls wrap around my fingers and her lips are obscenely hot and welcoming. I half expect to feel fangs when my tongue slithers into her mouth. She never stops touching me, good, yes, don’t ever stop touching me. I fall way past the daytime world, past school and home and Giles until there’s nothing but the night and the Slaying and her smell and her hot slippery skin and the leather hiding where I need to be.

Want. Take. Have. She gets it. She needs it.

*****

B gets it. She’s been the Slayer longer, hell she died that one time, she’s lost people close to her same as me. Kissing her is like soaking in light, like sunshine wrapped around my torso and twisted through my legs. She has this whole life outside the slaying, friends and family, school and a future, a Watcher who loves her – things I can never have. It’s too risky, it hurts too much when they’re taken away.

B’s another thing I shouldn’t have. But it’s different. Like it would be wrong to ignore the mad electricity we’ve had ever since that night they found me pounding on a vamp outside the dingy little club that passes for entertainment in this town.  It’s not love or flowers or dinner and a movie but we don’t need that shit. She already knows me better than anyone else possibly could. She gets me through. When her hands are on me I can feel the memory of a thousand stakes and punches and it jolts through me like lightening. It’s like we melted together and we don’t need the couple shit. We don’t need to hold hands or play footsie under the research table. She’s mine and I’m hers and no one could ever change that, no one could understand why it works. B gets it.


End file.
